Rebirth
by Spirit0
Summary: AU, V/H. Each chapter is a description of a different object/thing without naming that object and as described by Van and Hitomi. "It makes me think of like . . . angels. Angels who have had their wings ripped off and their feathers are falling to earth."
1. Like Rebirth

**AN: I wrote this for a class that explores the Academic Essay. It was just a little assignment on close reading: write a story or essay about an object without naming the object. I didn't name the characters, either, but you can imagine them as Van and Hitomi in some AU world. I'm contemplating writing a lot of little things like this. I dunno. I guess it will depend on what you all think. **

**P.S. FF . net of course messed up the formatting, which makes the story less awesome.  
**

**Like Rebirth**

It was cold. He stared at his white-lined boots, then at his tracks. The surface had already started to harden, crunched under his feet as his legs sank. _C r u n c h _

_ crunch_

_crunch_

_ c-crunch_

_ CRUNCH _The tracks looked like zeros, and here and there there were what looked like mini-train tracks, with mini-zeros following along.

He stared at the untouched middle, at the houses, at the cars. Despite the fact that he could see the windows of cars still, that he knew they'd try to get out in the morning and make it all dirty, it was the purest he'd ever seen the city.

"They're like people," she said.

"How so?"

"Look at it falling."

He watched it fall even though he knew what it looked like. Some were bigger than others, but right now they were bigger in general. He tried to remember what that meant, if anything. Long or short? He stared farther into the distance so it seemed like they fell very slowly, hoping it was long.

"So?" he asked.

"They're so tiny, right? It's like . . . there are billions of people in the world. It's like each one represents a person."

"Isn't each one supposed to be unique?"

"Yes. How fitting. Because we're all unique."

He stared at the tracks again, the tracks that mutilated the perfection. "Well, we just crushed a lot of people, then."

"Well, I guess that _is_ how life works," she said, sadly.

"I thought white meant purity and light and hope," he said, pausing. "But it makes me think of death. Not even in the way you think it's like some big metaphor, or how it literally causes more accidents, but it makes me think of like . . . angels. Angels who have had their wings ripped off and their feathers are falling to earth."

She turned to look at him, to really look at him. He could begin to make out the intricate patterns to the ones resting on her hair. He wanted to brush them away, but his hands were likewise covered in this downy death. He smiled slightly as he leaned back, lying flat and moving his arms up and down and his feet back and forth. Carefully, he sat up again.

"There," he said, sadly satisfied. "I made a dedication to the fallen angels."

"Shut up," she said. "They don't look like feathers at all. They're too tiny to be feathers."

"I guess."

"Haven't you, like, ever seen _Frosty_?"

"Yeah . . ."

"I cried when he melted. But don't you get it? It's like . . . it's okay, because it's a cycle. It's like a rebirth. Frosty will come back, just like the flowers and grass will come back."

"Well, you admitted that crushing it is like crushing people. And besides, it doesn't happen everywhere. And it doesn't melt everywhere. So it can't be like a rebirth."

She sighed. "You're so pessimistic, you know? You can't have death without life. And it's better than thinking of angels being banished from heaven or whatever and having their wings torn off so that their feathers fall from the sky."

He didn't say anything.

"Is that what you really think?" she asked, staring at him again and not the pure whiteness all around her. He again saw it in her hair, on her hat, her jacket, her scarf. Her scarf came over her chin. Her breath melted the ones on her scarf. He smiled. She just melted people.

"You want to know what I really think?" he whispered.

"Yes."

"I think it's a really awesome reason to not have school tomorrow so that I can spend this night with you."

In its light, he could see the flush of her cheeks despite the fact that it was cold.

**AN: Van's feathers getting ripped off? Remember I didn't write this with fanfiction at all in mind. Meh. But would anyone want more stuff like this? Or do you all think I'm legit crazy now? I mean, I could've put this on fictionpress, I guess, but eh. It's more fun this way.**

**So this means you have to REVIEW.  
**


	2. The Darkness That Follows

**AN: Because I was feeling inspired.**

**The Darkness That Follows**

The light was disappearing, as it did everyday when the sun went down. He was facing the setting sun, even though he couldn't see it because the buildings of the city blocked the horizon. But he knew it was there, just like, when he turned around, he knew the elongated darkness would be there, following him, always following him. It followed everyone, even her, next to him, who turned to him and smiled. She looked behind them, too, to see what he was looking at, before turning back to him. It made him sad to think that there was darkness following her, too.

"I thought maybe someone was following us. I got scared," she said.

"There is someone or something following us," he said.

"What, I didn't see anything."

"The darkness that's attached to your feet, that keeps pace with you even when you're headed towards the light."

"What about when you turn around and face it?"

"It mocks you because you can't make it go away," he said.

"I'm imagining you as a child punching the ground repeatedly and crying because you couldn't make it go away," she said. He turned towards her, thinking about how the light was almost gone. Then he stopped and turned around. She stopped, too, and did the same.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"I didn't beat the ground as a child, but I would turn around and face it and ask my parents why it was there. They used to tell me all the technical definitions, about how when light hits an object that it cannot pass through, it creates a two-dimensional silhouette of that object. But I kept asking, and eventually my mom tried to be creative and told me that it represented the evil that lurks everywhere in this world, and if you just face the light, you put the evil behind you. It was supposed to be comforting, knowing that I wasn't evil or anything, that I could turn my back to it and be strong, but it frightened me more, knowing the evil was always there, waiting for me."

"Do you still think that . . ?" she asked, thinking about how he thought angels had their wings torn off when it snowed, and that snow angels were some sort of remembrance of those fallen angels, and how she wished she could rid him of this sadness.

"I dunno, I guess," he said, hesitating. The sun had set, and it was the moon's, along with the street lamp's, turn to create even more deformed silhouettes. "I mean, yeah, I guess . . . because when I looked at you, I. . . ." He hesitated.

"It's okay," she said. "You can tell me anything."

It was another one of those comments that was supposed to be comforting, but only made him despair more, because when he looked at her, at her face, which he found beautiful, he found himself focusing on the fine dark lines caused by the way the streetlamp hit her hair. "I thought about how sad it was that the darkness follows even you."

She took a hold of his hand and started walking. To his surprise, she was smiling. "Don't worry about me. Besides, when the sun is at its peak, there's no darkness, and anyway, the occasional darkness is what can help you see the light."

"But right now," he said, "right now, it's the light that's making everything look distorted and scary. It's the light that penetrates the night that makes us see things that aren't really there."

"Are you scared?" she asked.

"No."

"That's ironic, because I'm a bit afraid to walk around at night, exactly for the reasons you mentioned." They looked at each other, and he noticed she was still smiling, and after a moment, he found himself smiling back.

"Then I'm glad I could walk you home," he said, thinking about how, even though the streetlamps and moon distorted how he saw her, she was beautiful in any light.

**AN:** **So so so. I'm not dead. Well. My heart hasn't stopped beating, anyway. I feel like someone came and stole my creativity, though, and my fascination with life or something. I'm becoming just another cog in the machine or something cheesy like that. Or maybe it's the craziness that has become my life. Like, right now some strange thing just happened between my parents. But I'm too chicken to ask what's actually going on. I don't really want to know. It's more torturous to guess, but it's sadder to know. **

**Anyway, I don't think this one's as good as the first one. But eh. I haven't written anything serious in awhile. In case this one was more confusing, I was describing a shadow.**

**Please review, even you hated it. You can just tell me you hated it.**

**-Spirit0**


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